Behind James Hook
by elizabeth92
Summary: Captain James Hook wasn't always James Hook, you know. Once upon a long time ago, the ferocious pirate was a little boy named Seamus...


**Neverland**

Even when I was a very small boy, I cannot remember the warm caresses of loving parents. Perhaps my mother once hugged me or dried my tears, but my father certainly never did. He was always a strong believer that little boys should not be "coddled," but never hesitated to have me beaten when I misbehaved. Whenever my mother would try to interfere on my behalf he would roar his philosophy to the entire household. "I don't want a sissy for a son!"

My sisters were treated with all deference from everyone, even my father. He never dared lay a hand on them, even when Sarah glued Jane's braids to the chair or Jane gave Sarah a split lip. But me? Scarcely a day went by when I didn't get in trouble for something. My childhood was far from happy.

But, when I was eleven years old, it was proven that even the darkest clouds had a silver lining. It was announced one night during dinner that I was to be sent away to boarding school. Had my mother raised me, I'm sure I would have wept piteously and begged not to go. But I was my father's son – silent and steadfast. My mother and sisters did cry an awful lot when I boarded the train, making me promise to behave and write often, but my father just whacked me on the head and threatened what he'd do to me if he got a bad report.

It was his goodbye that kept me out of trouble for three years.

But I did write to my mother.

When I was fourteen, I graduated first in my class. My beaming mother hugged and congratulated me. My sisters smiled shyly and told me I'd done well. My father took the certificate from her and said gruffly, "As I expected, no better." For a moment, I thought I saw a proud tear in his eye.

But it was all in my imagination.

"James," he said, "your tie isn't straight."

And whacked me over the head.

My mother often tried to make up for my father's actions. One week, while he was out of town, she let me go into London by myself. "Buy whatever you want," she said, handing me a wad of bills. "You deserve it, James."

Personally, I thought I did deserve it, and probably even more.

But I didn't say that.

I finally found myself in the park, unable to find anything worth buying. Perhaps I would buy a new doll for Jane or some ribbons for Sarah – they'd like that. But at the moment, I was enjoying the peaceful afternoon.

Unfortunately, nothing is ever completely peaceful for me.

As I was strolling down the dirt path, money in my pocket and a song in my heart, I came across a little boy. He was, like most little boys, exceedingly dirty. (I could imagine the fit my father would throw if I came home that filthy.) But, unlike most little boys, he wore an odd assortment of play clothes that appeared to be made of … leaves.

A pair of short, tattered trousers covered his legs to the knee, and a vest woven with ivy covered the rest of him. His dark hair was tousled and covered with leaves and brush. And he was crying.

"Are you all right, son?" I asked, feeling quite grown up and mature compared to the little fellow. He looked up at me with sad blue eyes and I felt that pride leave me. I knew how the poor little fellow felt.

I knelt down next to him. "What's your name?"

"Seamus," the boy muttered.

"That's a good sturdy name. My grandfather was named Seamus."

"I haven't got a grandfather," said Seamus dolefully.

"Of course you have. Everyone has a grandfather."

He shook his head. "Not me."

"Do you have a grandmother?" I asked, wondering if the little boy even knew what a grandmother was. Surely, he did.

"Nope. I haven't got a mummy or daddy either."

"Now, now, of course you do. Every little boy has a mummy and daddy." _Only the poor children in the bad parts of town could claim to be without parents – and they were orphans._

"Well I don't," said Seamus defiantly, if that was his name.

"Then who takes care of you?"

"My brother," he replied, as if it was completely commonplace. "My brother, Petyr." _Well, certainly Petyr, whoever he was, wasn't doing the best job caring for the little fellow._

"Where's Peter now?" I asked.

"He's at home. Sometimes he gets mad at me and sends me away, so I come here and play with the other children. But sometimes it gets cold and I want to go home, but I can't."

"And where is home?"

I half-expected him to tell me he lived in the orphanage, but the little boy's answer surprised me. "Neverland, of course."

_Oh, yes, of course. Neverland. I mean, how hard was that to guess? _"Neverland?" I asked. "Is that some sort of park?"

The boy frowned. "No, of course not," he explained. "Not what you'd call a park, at least. Neverland is so much better than a park. It's bigger and wilder and prettier, too. And there isn't the smell of smoke from the city factories, and there aren't mean people living in Neverland."

"Who lives with you and Petyr in Neverland?"

"All sorts of creatures," Seamus shrugged. "There are natives in the woods, but Petyr's friends with them, so they're very nice to us. Petyr's friends with everybody except the crocodiles … he's even friends with the mermaids!"

"Mermaids?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yes, mermaids – lots of them, with long fishy tails and beautiful long hair they brush all the time. Don't you believe in mermaids?"

I didn't want to hurt Seamus' feelings, but to be perfectly honest … I'd never believed in mermaids. My father hadn't encouraged fairy tales and though my sisters were indulged in fantasies about unicorns and fairies, I'd never been exposed to such foolery. "I don't know if I do or not," I confessed. "Maybe I did when I was a child, but I don't remember anymore."

All of a sudden, the boy sat bolt upright.

"You mean you're not a child anymore?" he accused, horrified. "You're a … a grownup?"

I looked down at myself. _Was I a grownup? Perhaps I'd been acting like an adult far too long, but I was only fourteen. Did that qualify as being fully grown up, or did I still have a while left as a child?_ The thought was quite frightening. _How long did I have left as a child?_

"I'm not an adult yet," I said finally. "I'm still a boy."

_But for how long?_

Seamus' face broke into a relieved grin. "Good," he said. "Petyr would be so upset if I'd told a grownup about Neverland. My brother hates adults. He's says they're never any good and not to be trusted." He suddenly looked sad. "Petyr says they don't believe in Neverland, and they'd want to take me away and put me in an orphanage. I don't understand why they could do such an awful thing. Petyr won't tell me. Do you understand about grownups?"

I shrugged. Seamus seemed to be so wise for such a little fellow, and suddenly I felt completely inadequate. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "It seems I'm not really sure about anything these days."

Seamus grinned and put his small, dirty hand on mine. "What's your name?" he asked me. (I appreciated the change of subject.)

_Here was one question I could answer._

"James."

"That's a nice name," said Seamus. "James … James … I like it. Maybe I could be a James one day. James … James … I think I'd make a good James."

I grinned. "I'm sure you would."

"You know what?" Seamus announced. "I think Petyr would like to meet you, James. He's always saying I should get a friend. You should come with me … come to Neverland with me, James! Please!"

_Neverland. The sound of it was so wonderful, I could almost taste myself saying it._ "Tell me more about Neverland."

Seamus was only too happy to oblige. As he described the sugar-pink sunsets, the sky blue lagoons, the beautiful mermaids, the fierce natives, and the wonderful world of Neverland, I longed to join him. I longed to fly through the sky with the birds, to swim with the mermaids … to bask in the glory of childhood forever.

"Will you come with me, James?" he pleaded, sticking out his lower lip. "Please come to Neverland … please!"

Part of me wanted to say yes and go with him – to leave this world and go to one where I'd surely be welcome. But I knew I couldn't go with Seamus – I had a life here, with a mother and father and sisters who loved me (for the most part), and I couldn't just leave it. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do – tell the little boy I couldn't come with him.

"It's okay, James," he said finally. "I understand. But I'll remember you … you were a good friend, James."


End file.
